Prophecy

by Elizabeth Haydon

  “Despite being cut off from the sight of the Colony’s destruction, I lived it nonetheless, because Dhracians who live in a colony are of one mind, much like bees in a hive, or ants in a hill. I felt each agony, endured each struggle for breath, watched through thousands of dimming eyes the sight of our race’s life being snuffed out. It is an image that haunts me with each waking breath. Only in sleep do I find respite from it, even now, all these centuries later.

  “I waited a very long time, until the doors cooled, until the noise abated. Even on the other side of the doors the choking and muffled screams, the pounding of the ground was audible. I waited for another of the amelystik to come to relieve me, but no one ever did. I was a young woman myself, a girl really, and so decided there was wisdom in waiting until I could no longer feel the vibrations of death and smoke in my skin; that was a very long time. I watched the child for signs that her terror had abated; that took even longer.

  “When finally the noise died away, when I could no longer feel the heat through the door or smell the soot in the air, when finally the Earthchild had fallen back into undisturbed slumber, I opened the doors. It was as I expected; the haze of lingering smoke hanging in the air of the silent tunnels, the bodies of the Brethren choking the passageways.

  “I waited for the victors to break through the walls, to take the Colony now that all the Zhereditck were dead. No one ever came. There was no invading army, no plunderers. To this day I do not know if it was a horrific accident or a deliberate act of genocide. It is important to know this if it can be determined, because if it was intentional, if the F’dor were responsible, then they know the child’s whereabouts, and they will be back for her.

  “I have waited since that moment, almost four centuries ago now, but there has been no sign. Fate seems to have handed the Brethren a horrific tragedy from which were no survivors save for the Earthchild, whose life is eternal death; to protect that life an entire civilization died. And me, chosen by Fate to be Matriarch, who would never bear child; mother, guide, guardian to none of my own kind. And now you, a mere ghost.”

  Achmed closed his eyes, remembering the odor of candle wax in the monastery, and the soft, dry words of Father Halphasion. Child of Blood, the Dhracian sage had said, Brother to all men, akin to none.

  “You have finally arrived, although you are late in coming. There is time still; I have remained, waiting for you.”

  “Perhaps you should tell us whatever prophecy you were given,” Achmed said quietly.

  The memory that had clouded the Grandmother’s eyes vanished, and her gaze became clear and hard.

  “The words are not for you alone.”

  “You said I was expected to be both hunter and guardian. I can’t do either of those things if you won’t tell me the prophecy.”

  “No,” the Grandmother said again. The tone of the word was flat and burned against his skin. “There must be three. It is foretold.

  “One thing you must come to understand about this land, as the Zhereditck learned when they came here: this is the last of the places where Time was born. Speaking the words of prophecies forces their fulfillment more quickly here. It must be done sparingly. Sometimes it can only be done once. Otherwise, they may be fulfilled in a way they were not intended.” Achmed nodded reluctantly. “Bring the other with you when you come back. Time grows short.”

  The Grandmother rose smoothly and beckoned them to rise as well. “Destruction is far simpler than creation, than sustenance, than deliverance; it takes but one to destroy a world. But the deliverance of that world is not a task for one alone. A world whose fate rests in the hands of one is a world far too simple to be worth saving.”

  The sun was beginning to set as Grunthor finished moving the boulders in place that would conceal the entrance to the Loritorium. Achmed shielded his eyes and looked to the west to watch the coming of night. The red light of the vanishing sun was washing the leeward faces of the Teeth with wide rivers of crimson and scarlet, making the mountains seem as if they were on fire. His brain, honed from what he had just experienced, felt much the same.

  The sergeant clapped his hands together, brushing the remaining dirt from his tattered goatskin gloves.

  “’At about does it, sir. Ready to ’ead back?”

  Achmed scanned the path from Grivven post to the high peaks, trying to locate the entrance to the Cauldron in the distance. A moment later he found it, obscured by a swarm of tiny human figures forming a disorderly mass by the gate. He rolled his eyes.

  “Hrekin,” he swore. “The second wave of ambassadors are here from the outlying lands, as well as some of those returning from Roland with answers from their lords. They made better time than I thought they would in the muddy terrain.”

  Grunthor loosed a long sigh. “Can’t be ’elped, Oi guess, sir,” he said, pulling off the sweat-soaked gloves and stuffing them in his pack. “Kingly duties, so to speak. May as well get it over with.”

  Achmed watched a moment longer. There was a dark mist clinging to one area of the group, an afternoon shadow, most likely, and nothing more. Nevertheless his mind was clouded with the images of desolation and death from which he had just come.

  “When did Rhapsody say she would be returning?” he asked, still shading his eyes as the glory of the bloody sunset began to dim to a soft pink, the threat of a pallid gray looming with the onset of dusk.

  “She didn’t,” Grunthor answered. “If all worked out the way ’er message said, she should be in training about now. Might take a while.”

  Achmed scowled. “Let’s get back,” he said, shouldering his pack. “I have a missive I need to send to Tyrian with the next mail caravan.”

  19

  The border watchers of Tyrian had been following her for more than an hour when Rhapsody finally decided to call a halt to the game. She had been aware of their notice, several miles after she and Ashe had parted. They had come down silently from the trees, unseen, to observe her as she walked, whistling, through their forest. She had expected them to show themselves fairly early on, but instead they moved silently behind her, covering the ground with no more disturbance than the wind. If she hadn’t been in tune with the song of the forest she would never have known they were there.

  Finally she stopped in the middle of the forest path. “If you’re concerned about my presence here, come out and greet me,” she said, looking at the four different spots she knew they were standing, hidden. “My intentions are peaceful.”

  After a moment one of the guards came out, a tall, broad-shouldered Lirin woman with eyes the same color as her fawn-brown hair. Those eyes were large and almond-shaped, her body lithe and long of line, with skin that bore the marks of the sun and the elements in its hue; she was a perfect specimen of her race. She had been standing in the spot where Rhapsody’s gaze had come to rest.

  “I am Cedelia,” she said in Orlandan, the common tongue of Roland. “Are you looking for something in particular?”

  “Yes, actually,” Rhapsody answered, smiling. “I have come to see Oelendra.”

  The woman’s face betrayed no reaction. “You be in the wrong part of Tyrian for that.”

  “Well, can I get there from here?”

  “Eventually,” answered Cedelia. She moved slightly, and Rhapsody saw she was returning an arrow to her quiver. Rhapsody had not seen the bow until just then. “You be more than a week’s journey away. ’Twill be easiest if you head west through Tyrian City. Who are you?”

  The Singer bowed slightly. “My name is Rhapsody,” she answered respectfully. “If it would be preferable to you, we can speak in the Lirin tongue.”

  “Whichever language you are more comfortable with is fine.” The Lirin woman’s face betrayed none of the hostility that Rhapsody had seen humans occasionally exhibit toward those of mixed blood. She leaned to the east slightly and emitted a series of birdlike whistles. Rhapsody heard a faint rustling in the trees and nothing more. “I will escort you as far as Tyrian City.”

>   “Thank you,” Rhapsody said. “It will be good to have a guide.” Cedelia gestured to a barely visible trail off the forest path, and Rhapsody followed her into the greenwood, amid the sounds of birdsong and the wind in the trees of Tyrian.

  They walked in virtual silence for the entire journey. Rhapsody tried several times to make conversation, and though Cedelia answered her pleasantly, she never sought to continue the dialogue. Eventually, Rhapsody recalled that her mother tended to only speak when there was a need to say something significant, too, so she lapsed into a state of quiet contentment, satisfied to observe the beauty of spring as it came to the forest.

  The leaves were in full bud now, lacy foliage appearing with the eagerness of a toddler’s smile, green and silver, fresh from the long sleep of winter. Rhapsody felt her heart opening as she passed through the woods, following her silent chaperone. There was something renewing about being here, in the land of her mother’s people, though the Lirin of the wood were not Liringlas, as her mother had been. It was an honesty, a simplicity about the life they led; each village they passed seemed fruitful and peaceful, the people they encountered were pleasant and seemed to treat each other well. There was joy here, or something close to it. Tyrian felt like paradise. Rhapsody felt her inner fire grow steadily day by day.

  Cedelia sat the watch each night. Rhapsody had offered to share it with her, but she had politely declined, citing no need for sleep. Rhapsody’s own need for sleep was less than that of her Bolg friends, and far less than Jo’s, but even she required a few hours’ rest, where Cedelia did not. So each night she climbed awkwardly into her bedroll, feeling the eyes of her guardian escort on her. She hoped she would be more welcome at Oelendra’s.

  On the fourth day it rained, heavy, pelting rain that stung as it fell. Even Cedelia felt the need to take shelter from the storm, and led Rhapsody into a cottage that she would not have seen had it not been pointed out to her. Inside it was sparsely furnished with a few cots and tables, and stores of dried food. Cedelia pried open a chest and offered Rhapsody some salted venison strips. She accepted so as not to appear rude. Finally, she decided to attempt conversation once more.

  “What is this place?”

  Cedelia looked up over her food. “One of the houses of the border watchers.”

  “It’s cleverly hidden. I wouldn’t have seen it.”

  “’Tis the point; you’re not supposed to.”

  Rhapsody wilted under the cool tone. “Have I done something to offend you, Cedelia?”

  “I know not. Have you?” The fawn-colored eyes narrowed slightly; otherwise her expression didn’t change. She took another bite of meat.

  “I don’t understand,” Rhapsody said, color rushing to her cheeks. “Please explain what you mean, Cedelia. We’ve been traveling together for four days and I still have no idea what’s bothering you.”

  Cedelia put down her food. “You were seen with a man in a hooded gray cloak five days ago at the Outer Forest lip.”

  Rhapsody looked puzzled. “Yes.”

  “Who was that?”

  Her heart began to pound. “Why?”

  “Because a man in a hooded gray cloak led a raid on a Lirin village on the eastern edge of the Outer Forest lip that same night. The settlement was burned to the ground.”

  Rhapsody leapt to her feet. “What?”

  Like lightning a bow was pointed at her heart, the arrow nocked. “Sit down.” Rhapsody obeyed. “Fourteen men, six women, and three children perished in that raid.”

  Rhapsody began to tremble. “Gods.”

  “Hardly; try again,” Venom dripped from Cedelia’s voice. “Who was that man?”

  “His name is Ashe.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  “Ashe? Ashe what?”

  Rhapsody looked out the window at the greenwood. “I don’t know.”

  “Do you always kiss people you don’t know?”

  She looked back at Cedelia. “No.”

  Cedelia nocked a second arrow on the string next to the first one. “Why are you really here?”

  Rhapsody’s glance hardened. “I told you the truth. I’m looking for Oelendra.” Cedelia continued to stare at her. “What are you going to do now?”

  “I told you the truth as well. I am escorting you as far as Tyrian City. What happens after that will be up to Rial to decide.”

  When they left the house of the border watchers Cedelia returned the arrows to her quiver and slung her bow across her back.

  “You are being covered from all angles. ’Twould be decidedly unwise for you to try anything untoward.”

  Rhapsody sighed. Her vision of paradise had dimmed considerably with the knowledge that they had been followed all along, that the Lirin thought she might be responsible for the heinous attack on the village. She could not allow herself to even think about Ashe.

  In the first joyful hours of her walk when she was alone, communing with the forest through her music, she had learned much about the place. The forest of Tyrian was more than a hundred miles wide east to west; it was closer to two hundred going north to south. On its western edge it bordered the sea, running north to the Roland seaside province of Avonderre and south to the lands of the Lirinwer, the plains Lirin.

  The wonderful impression she had of the attitude and plight of the Lirin who lived in Tyrian appeared to be borne out by what she had learned from the wood itself. It seemed macabre that she was now a virtual prisoner of unseen jailers, on her way to judgment by someone named Rial. Elynsynos had certainly not mentioned him, nor had Ashe. At the thought of Ashe Rhapsody went cold again.

  “This way,” said Cedelia politely. Rhapsody shouldered her pack and followed her down the muddy trail, rainwater dripping off the new leaves like tears.

  Two more days of silent travel through thick vegetation brought them in sight of the city. Rhapsody had seen the guard towers long before she realized what they were; a wall of ancient heveralt trees, a cousin species to the Great White Tree, had been set on a hill-like rise and reinforced with a wide stone and wood barricade at their bases, from which ladders ascended into the platforms that connected their upper canopies.

  The wall stretched north for as far as she could see, giving her the impression that the size of Tyrian City as akin to that of Easton. Before the wall lay a wide and steeply sided ditch, slick moss coating the bottom. Hundreds of Lirin guards, men and women, traversed the connected aerial platforms through the trees as effortlessly as walking on the earth. The sight filled Rhapsody with wonder and sadness. The possibility that she would ever be welcome in this marvelous place was becoming more remote by the moment.

  Half a mile or so outside the clearing that surrounded the city, Cedelia took a turn off course and led her into another hidden structure similar to the border watcher’s house. It was larger and better appointed inside, with no sleeping bunks but several long tables and many chairs. The windows each contained a mounted crossbow stand and windowbox-like vessels that held hundreds of bolts. A weapons rack with impressive contents took up the rest of the wall that the door was in. Cedelia drew forth her bow and nocked an arrow, holding the weapon ready but not pointing it at her.

  “Take a seat,” she said.

  Rhapsody laid down her own bow and removed her pack, dropping it onto the table. She pulled out a roughhewn pine chair and sat down, sighing heavily.

  They waited that way, Rhapsody and her guard, for more than an hour. Just when she was about to ask for water the door opened and a tall, silver-haired man came into the longhouse. He wore the same forest-colored clothing as Cedelia, with a dark red cape and a polished wood buckle on his belt. His face was lined with age but tanned and healthy, and his eyes smiled as he looked at her. He turned to her guard and nodded politely.

  “Thank you, Cedelia.” Cedelia slung her bow and returned her arrow to the quiver on her back. She took her leave silently and quickly, closing the door behind her.

  The man crossed the room and came to a halt in front of
her. “How do you do?” he said, extending a hand to her and assisting her in her effort to rise. “I am Rial. I hope Cedelia has treated you well.”

  “Yes, thank you. My name is Rhapsody.”

  Rial looked her over intently but in a way she did not feel invaded by. Then he released her hand and pulled out a chair next to the one she had been sitting in. Rhapsody sank into her seat again, her back aching at the hardness of the wood. “You have a beautiful voice,” Rial said as he sat down.

  Rhapsody looked at him in surprise. “Excuse me?”

  “I heard you singing a week or so ago, at least I assume that was you.”

  “You have been following us?”

  “Nay,” said Rial with a smile. “I’ve been here in Tyrian City. There are some things that transcend distance in Tyrian. Music of the kind you were making is one of them.”

  Rhapsody flushed with embarrassment. “Does that mean everyone heard me, or just you?”

  His smile grew warmer. “I’m afraid ’twas everyone. ’Tis nothing to be embarrassed about. It may have been the forest’s way of telling its people something they need to know. Tyrian is more than a wood, ’tis a living entity; it has a soul. Your music delighted the soul of Tyrian in a way it never has been before. Tyrian decided to share it with its people.”

  Rhapsody ran a hand awkwardly over her hair. “Well, I’ll try to keep that in mind before I open my mouth again.”